


May I Be Excused?

by hecklesyeah



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 00:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13178622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecklesyeah/pseuds/hecklesyeah
Summary: “It’s all about timing and rhythm.”- - -Emily Prentiss skips one lesson and learns a few unexpected ones.





	May I Be Excused?

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for ages, since the season 13 premiere caused a stirring in my dormant Hotchniss shipper heart. It's not new, by any definition of the word. It's set in season 7, an alternate ending for S07E02 if you will. Also, warning for a mildly (?) explicit kink or two written into the story.
> 
> I wasn't going to post this but I felt I needed to let my readers know I'm still alive. For those waiting for an update for Radio Silent, I'm working on it. I haven't forgotten about that WIP and I certainly haven't forgotten about you. Expect it sometime in January, a new year's gift for y'all ;)

* * *

“So, uh, when do we get to drink the wine?” Emily asks, looking like a hopeful child.

“Almost there,” Rossi answers, rubbing his palms together. “Okay, start at the beginning. Eat what you cook. I’ll supervise. And we’re gonna do this all together, just like a family.”

The rest of the team find it hard to keep from smiling at Rossi’s dramatics.

“Okay, now?” JJ asks, her glass of wine raised.

The eldest of the team winks. “Now.”

They all clink glasses, cheering the end of the case and the night of family, food, and fun ahead of them.

Emily, however, has other plans. “Uh, may I be excused? I’m only good at eating and, uh, heh, drinking,” she pauses, raising her glass. “But cooking and I are practically mortal enemies. Unless we’re talking microwaveable stuff.”

Rossi looks beyond offended.

“I would have to agree,” JJ winces.

Penelope giggles at the men’s puzzled looks before explaining, “We were going to have mac ‘n cheese on one of our girls’ nights. You know, the boxed, pre-made kind that—Oh, don’t you dare, David Rossi, it is comfort food,” she chastises Rossi for his judgment. “Anyway, Jayje and I left her for five minutes and long story short, we ended up ordering pizza instead.”

“Aw, Princess, what did you do?” Morgan teases.

She sends him such a saccharine smile and sing-songs through gritted teeth. “Shut up, Morgan.” At the ensuing laughter, she narrows her eyes and raises a hand in front of her, almost in defense. “I can’t be the only one here who can’t cook to save her life.”

Rossi shrugs, “I’m Italian.”

Hotch nods, “I don’t get to do it often but I’m a decent cook.”

“Well, you’ve met my Mama and I grew up with three sisters, raised by a single parent. We took turns cooking and I’m pretty good, if I do say so myself.” Morgan squares his shoulders, grinning. “What about you, Baby Girl?”

“I learned how to fend for myself when my parents died,” Penelope answers with a sad smile. Morgan puts his arm around her shoulders in comfort.

JJ tilts her head as she recalls her upbringing. “My parents made me focus on my studies and soccer so I could get a college scholarship.”

“Ha!” Emily interjects, despite knowing the blonde is a decent enough cook.

“But,” JJ quickly adds. “Will’s been a great teacher. At least, he and Henry appreciate my cooking.” They all share a smile at the thought of little Henry.

Emily’s smile drops when she turns to her last chance. “Reid? Don’t let me down, buddy.”

His apologetic look has Emily pouting. “I’m actually pretty good at it. Aside from the fact that cooking is basically edible chemistry, I had to learn after my father left. My mom was a bad cook at best and her episodes didn’t really help,” he nods along as he explains, giving them an awkward yet content smile.

Despite the rather somber tone left by Reid’s confession, Hotch finds himself chuckling at the expression on Emily’s face. “Looks like it’s just you, Emily.”

“You laugh, Aaron Hotchner, but you’ve met me when I was barely out of my teens. You know the kind of lifestyle I grew up in. And let me tell you, my skills have not improved since.”

Hotch smiles, dimples and all. “I’m sure some of them have,” he says and Emily blinks twice, not only at his words but also at the playful way he said them.

Eyebrows raise and eyes widen, going back and forth between the two bickering members of the team. A few silent seconds pass before Emily, who’s never backed down from a challenge, squares her shoulders, clears her throat, and looks up at Hotch from beneath her long lashes.

“Guess that depends on which _skills_ you’re talking about,” she says, raising an eyebrow at their unit chief.

Hotch meets her gaze head on before he smirks, “Oh, I don’t know. Do you still…” He trails off and the others hang on his every word, desperate for gossip about the two most private people in their team. “Burn water?” He tries not to laugh at the collective groans of disappointment.

“If it’s not in anything electronically set, then yes,” she answers, not missing a beat.

Rossi exchanges glances with the rest of the team before finally deciding how the evening will go. “How about doing it by pairs? I’ve already got mine,” he says, raising the plateful of pasta he made a few minutes ago. “So the rest of you, pair up.”

“I call dibs on my Chocolate Thunder,” Penelope exclaims, shamelessly feeling up said man’s chest.

Morgan chuckles, “Always, Sweetness.”

Emily opens her mouth but Reid beats her to it with his shy, “JJ?”

JJ’s eyes widen minutely but she just smiles, recognizing the olive branch he’s extending. “I’d love to, Spence.”

“Heh,” Emily lets out, shaking her head once before looking across the room and meeting the dark eyes of one Aaron Hotchner. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Hotch.”

He shrugs, finding it difficult to keep the corners of his lips from curling up but he manages and with a serious, dry tone, he says, “Nothing I can’t handle. After all, I have a six-year-old.” He chuckles again at her indignant expression before shaking his head. “I’m kidding. Maybe this time you’ll actually learn a thing or two.”

They cook in order of who paired up first and Rossi has to admit how proud he was of the first two pairs for keeping his mansion clean and not burnt down and, more importantly, for cooking pasta that wouldn’t make his ancestors roll over in their respective graves. And now they are down to the last pair. He had already tried Hotch’s cooking prior to this night so he knows he could count on the younger man to finish this exercise with flying colors while managing Emily’s lack of culinary skills. What has him worried – and if he was being honest, excited – is what would come of this brief partnership if their earlier banter is any indication.

Rossi has always noticed a certain tension thrumming between these two. He may not have seen the way they were with each other when Emily first started at the BAU but he had heard stories – stories he almost couldn’t believe had an ounce of truth given how Hotch seems to trust Emily completely and utterly in the field, in an interrogation, and otherwise, even when the rest of the team expressed their doubts months ago, his trust in her never wavered.

Emily Prentiss has always been a mother hen. She indulges Garcia’s quirks to help her keep the light despite the darkness of each case. She pulls Morgan out of his funk when a case hits too hard and humors his attempts at flirting up a storm despite the clear line they’ve both set as best friends-slash-siblings. She offers JJ a hand to hold onto and a shoulder to lean on when things get overwhelming, whether at work or otherwise. She manages to match Reid’s wits in card games and chess, shares his love for language and literature with a particular fondness for science fiction, and pulls him back out when the genius gets lost inside his own head. Hell, she even takes care of David Rossi himself – a glass of scotch on a late night, a cup of coffee and pastries when she wakes him after he’s fallen asleep in his office, a personal story shared between two people who are more than colleagues or even friends. He sees her as the daughter he never had and sometimes even believes he wouldn’t mind having her as his own daughter.

But with Hotch? Rossi never thought he’d see the day that Aaron Hotchner would willingly lean on someone. But he did— _does_ and he isn’t even sure if the man in question realizes it. Emily and Hotch work together seamlessly, sometimes even wordlessly, and that’s common knowledge among the team members. Early upon his return, Rossi had noticed the way she was always aware of Hotch’s presence. He had chalked it up to a residual reaction from when Hotch dissected her every move within the BAU but he eventually realized it wasn’t just that. She stayed close to their unit chief without hovering since his return and he suspects since Gideon left, and then more so after the divorce. When Hotch had chosen to close himself off from the rest of the team, he’d kept her closer than anyone else. She had made sure to leave him a cup of coffee or a sandwich when he’d neglected to eat and he’d more often partnered with her on the field, sat beside her on the round table and on the jet, lingered beside her – whether he did those things deliberately or without thought remains a question. But the major shift hadn’t happened until New York.

He knew how Hotch was – show no weakness, get the job done – everyone did. And yet despite that, she had deliberately put a pause on working the case just to ask if Hotch was okay. It’s what she does. She did it then with Detective Cooper and she’d do it with anyone on the team. But she watched him even more closely. She made sure to stay closer and respond to his every need before he even knew what he needed. She offered and he accepted, even sought her out. With his hearing impaired, his full profiling faculties were impaired too. And he made up for it by keeping her closer and watching how she responded to everything – her facial expressions, her body language, her thoughts and ideas. So when the time came that their roles were reversed, Rossi couldn’t help shaking his head in a bit of disappointment at Hotch. Emily needed the team’s support when her friend had been killed, maybe subconsciously needed _his_ support but his hands had been tied with politics and laws and red tape. Of course, Emily only confided in him and there was no way Hotch could have known why Emily was falling apart. In the end, he was just glad he was able to convince Hotch to take the risk. It wasn’t until later that he realized just how torn the unit chief had been over that case.

Hotch had had Reid’s head during that case with the bullied teenage unsub before he sat down and smoothed things down with the kid. He had nearly torn Jordan Todd apart after he’d caught her in a lie to gain the confidence of a victim’s mother.

What Emily did was plain insubordination, going against his orders, raising her voice on him, and shaking up the unstable foundations of interagency and intergovernmental politics. He’d been notified of complaints from various agencies as a result of Emily’s actions and yet he hadn’t even given her a slap on the wrist. His form of reprimand was a soft-spoken request that she take a few days off – a request that had turned into an order only after she’d yet again been insubordinate and borderline disrespectful because yes, Rossi had heard it all. If it had been another agent, even someone else from the team, he was sure Hotch would’ve fired them on the spot or put them up for disciplinary action at the very least.

That case was also the first time he’d ever heard the stoic man call the female agent by her given name – a soft, almost intimate _Emily_ that was barely above a whisper.

And then Foyet happened, and then Doyle. And he was more than certain that he wasn’t the only one seeing the change in the dynamic between the two. The parallelism of how one was to the other in their respective ordeals was so automatic and the way they accepted each other’s help but refused others’ whether subconsciously or not had the rest of the team backing off and reconsidering the pair. There had been whispers of speculation. But then Emily had _died_ and those whispers died with her.

But Aaron Hotchner had been one of the two people in the team who’d known she was alive. And yet his reaction after the fact had been so genuine. Only someone who’s known Hotch for as long as Rossi had would recognize it for what it was – heartbreak. When the team had talked about how their individual assessments with Hotch went, Morgan had let slip that Hotch had opened up enough to admit that he wished Emily was _here_.

And now that she was, Rossi’s curiosity had been piqued since she’d walked into the conference room for the first time in seven months. And if the focused eagle eyes that the rest of the team had on the duo from the dining table three feet away from the kitchen was any indication, their collective interest had been piqued too and they’d all be damned if they ignored this opportunity to observe another potential shift in the relationship between the two dark-haired agents.

It was a simultaneously entertaining yet painful exchange to watch.

“Emily—”

And that was another thing – she’s been _Emily_ to him more and more, even at work unless in the field.

“I can handle a knife, Hotch. I won’t end up stabbing myself accidentally. That table leg was more than enough for a lifetime if you ask me,” Emily says dryly with a sardonic smile as she takes the knife from Hotch’s hand. Her smile drops, however, when, instead of releasing said knife, Hotch covers her hand with his free one.

His gaze is rather intense when he speaks softly, “That wasn’t funny, Emily.”

She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly before nodding. “I know, too soon, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to make light of…everything.” Her gaze drops from his to their joined hands when she feels one of his thumbs caressing the back of her hand and the other, her wrist.

He takes a step closer. “I missed you,” he murmurs in a low, hoarse voice that only she could hear.

She gives him a sad smile and answers just as softly. “I know, I missed all of you too but I’m back now and—”

“No,” he interrupts, almost growls. “ _I_ missed you.”

This time, the emphasis is not lost on her and her eyes widen as she looks back and forth between his eyes, as if searching for the lie that she’d never find. A surge of emotions flows through her body and she’s sure that if he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart, then he could feel how her pulse had quickened on her wrist. She opens her mouth then closes it, not knowing how to respond, and when she opens it again, all that comes out is a sigh of his name.

“Hotch…”

She couldn’t find the right words to, what, let him know she missed him too? To assuage his guilt from not having saved a team member and then lying to the others? To tell him she would’ve told him she was in trouble if she could? To promise to make it up to him?

She’s saved by the bell. Or, rather, by the fork which Reid accidentally drops when his fingers relax due to the focus he’s been giving the duo in the kitchen.

“Sorry, I was, umm, clumsy.” He laughs nervously as Garcia glares at him for ruining the moment. “But, uh, carry on with your…cooking.”

“Real subtle, kid,” Rossi shakes his head.

But it was only then that the pair in the kitchen realize just how much cooking had _not_ been done.

“Right,” Emily mutters, pulling her hand and the knife out of Hotch’s and proceeding to chop everything up without meeting her cooking partner’s eyes.

She’s well-aware that he’s watching her the whole time, maybe even blatantly in front of the team, but she pretends not to notice until she finishes and is rendered useless unless the goal is to spoil the food or burn the house down. She then finds herself seated on the counter by the stove after having chopped up all the ingredients they’d be needing. She keeps her eyes on the food only to realize how distracting it can be to watch their unit chief cook a meal, to watch those hands working so deftly. That purpose and intensity directed at something or _someone_ …must be explosive.

She’s too busy daydreaming that she misses what he says to her.

“—taste? Emily.” Hotch sets down the spoonful he was about to feed her when she remains unresponsive. “Em?”

She jerks back to reality when his hand settles on her knee. “What?” She straightens up suddenly when she realizes he’s standing right in front of her, looking at her with concern. She blinks and tilts her head. “Hotch?”

A corner of his mouth rises. “I didn’t realize I was that boring. Where did you go?”

“Just…thinking,” she shrugs and answers evasively, looking away.

It’s his turn to tilt his head. “Are you okay?”

Her head snaps up. “What? Yeah, of course. Are you?” She absently touches his forearm. But before he can respond, her stomach growls, much to her embarrassment and his amusement. She ducks her head. “Guess I’m hungry,” she chuckles when he does.

“The pasta’s done. I was asking you to taste it.” With that, he gets another spoonful of the sauce he made and blows on it before raising it to her lips. She just blinks, caught off guard by the gesture and his expectant gaze. He moves the spoon closer to her lips and her instincts kick in, opening her mouth while holding his gaze. A second later though, the flavors burst inside her mouth and she closes her eyes to savor the taste, softly moaning in pleasure.

When her eyes open, she sees an odd look on Hotch’s face. “Oh god,” she groans. “Hotch, where did you learn to cook?” She asks, her tongue darting out to catch any more of the sauce on her lips.

His gaze drops to her lips, following the movement of her tongue. Luckily for him, she misses his obvious reaction because she’s already taken the spoon from his hand, dipping it back into the saucepan while keeping her hold on his forearm, his grip on her knee tightening slightly when she blows on the hot liquid and urges him to taste it. He takes one step closer to her, bringing his hips flush against her knees, as he opens his mouth and leans towards her to take the spoonful into his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Oh. Oh, our Gumdrop’s finally getting her man!” Penelope excitedly whispers, slapping lightly at Morgan’s shoulder.

“It’s like they’ve forgotten about the rest of us,” Derek mutters. He’s happy for the two people realizing their attraction or more is mutual but also irked because Emily has always been like a sister to him and nobody ever wants to see their sister getting her groove thing on, so to speak. And it seems Reid shares the sentiment because he’s turned his back on the duo, staring intently at his almost untouched plate of pasta with wide but unseeing eyes.

“Kid looks traumatized,” Rossi comments with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, when mommy and daddy get absorbed in their own little bubble…” JJ shrugs, a wide smile highlighting her features.

Rossi looks back at what he’s pretty sure is a would-be couple before turning back to the others. “Let’s give them some privacy. Want to move to the den?”

“The den, it is!” Morgan immediately agrees, grabbing Reid by his arm to get the genius to move. He’s sure everyone saw this romance between his princess and his boss from a mile away but that doesn’t mean he wants anything to do with it, much less see them going at it. He loves them both like family and he’d love to support them, but preferably from a couple of feet away, with a soundproof wall in between, if possible.

Penelope groans at having been deprived of her wonderful view of blossoming love. “We are so going to grill our Gumdrop. I expect details!”

JJ hooks her arm around Pen’s and pats her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we will. Although, I’m not sure I’d want a very detailed version. I mean, it’s _Hotch_.” She shudders at the thought of her boss who, over the last decade, has become her family – a protective older brother who’d hold your hand through difficult times but only if you want him to.

“Yes, but Aaron’s human and he’s always been different with her. I know I’m not the only one who’s noticed.” Rossi raises an eyebrow at the rest of the team and gets murmurs in the affirmative as responses.

Back in the kitchen, Emily has long since twisted to her side, one of her legs resting up on the counter while the other one dangles, as she eats pasta right from the sauce pan, the etiquette she’s grown up with be damned. When she realizes that Hotch has yet to eat in lieu of watching her enjoy his cooking, she twists a forkful of it and feeds him. He hesitates for only a second before he takes that last step closer to her, hips settling against the counter, leaning lightly on her dangling leg. His hand that was previously resting on her knee has moved up on her thigh, the same way her hand has moved up onto his bicep. Anyone looking at them would think them a couple.

“Em, you have sauce on your…” He trails off, vaguely gesturing to his own mouth before pointing towards her. His eyes grow darker as he watches her tongue dart out in an effort to lick the sauce off only to spread more of it on the corner of her mouth. “No, there’s…”

The hand he’s kept loose on his side rises up, thumb swiping at the corner of her mouth before he absently puts it in his mouth to clean the sauce off, never taking his eyes off her lips. He misses the way her gaze follows his every move, pupils dilating as well when his tongue laps at his thumb. She wets her lips, wishing it was his she was tasting. She sets the fork down when his hand goes back up to her face, cradling her jaw, the thumb he just had in his mouth settling on her lower lip. Her lips open on a sigh when he slides his thumb across, applying a bit of pressure in the middle, and he’s shocked when her tongue licks at the pad of his thumb right before her mouth opens to take the whole digit in, sucking as she went. It is so unapologetically seductive that when their dark eyes meet, it’s like black on black and the pull is so immediate, intense, neither could tell who leaned in first.

The kiss was even more explosive than either of them had ever imagined. Lips, teeth, and tongues battling for dominance, neither backing down from the overwhelming passion that by the time they break apart for air, Emily has already shifted towards the edge of the counter, both legs wrapped around Hotch’s waist, one hand fisted around the back of his shirt and the other gripping his now rumpled hair. His own hands have traveled up her thighs, one settling on the curve of her ass, the other splayed across her back under her shirt.

“Emily,” he sighs, resting his forehead against hers.

She closes her eyes, relishing in the feel of his breath ghosting over her face. “What are we doing, Hotch?” She asks, just barely above a whisper.

He shakes his head, unsure of anything except his desire, his need. “I just… I missed you.” When she leans back to look into his eyes, he stares right back, gaze unwavering. “I don’t want to miss you anymore.” His arms tighten around her, pulling her flush against him. “I just want you,” he says, his voice low as he nuzzles her neck. “I need you here, now. Always,” he whispers into her ear before pressing a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead then tucking her head under his chin.

“I’m here,” she whispers back, her fist tightening on his shirt as she pulls him as close as their bodies would allow. The hand in his hair strokes and scratches lightly at his scalp, reassuring him and herself that this shift in their relationship is _real_ and irrevocable. A few minutes pass and it feels like an eternity when she gently pulls away from their embrace, settling her hands on his chest, leaving one hand over his heart as the other moves to caress his cheek. “I’m here,” she repeats, this time with more conviction.

He smiles at her, dimples on full display, his hands run up and down her thighs, up her sides, her arms, her shoulders, her neck. One hand brushes against her breast on its way back to rest on her thigh and she gasps, back arching at the unexpected electric touch. Hotch’s eyes flash at the revelation of just how responsive she is but he tamps down on the urge to repeat the action more deliberately. Instead, he tucks her hair behind her ear then gently caresses her cheek with the back of his hand before settling it on the back of her neck to tilt her head up to his. The kiss they share this time is slow and gentle but no less passionate that they’re both panting into each other’s mouths when they break apart for much-needed air.

“Hotch…” When his name crosses her lips in a sigh that’s almost a whimper, something in him stirs.

“Aaron.”

She leans away slightly just to look at him. “What?”

“When we’re alone, I want you to call me Aaron.”

Her lips part in surprise but they curve as she tests it out so softly he wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t hyperaware of everything _Emily_. “Aaron.”

“I love how you say my name, sweetheart,” he says, nuzzling her nose with his and she nearly melts both at the gesture and at the pet name.

“Aaron,” she moans into his ear, anticipating some kind of reaction, but ends up gasping in surprise when he bucks into her, letting her know just how much she affects him. “Mmm,” she moans again, licking a strip up from the juncture between his shoulder and neck up to the spot behind his ear. “I wish we were alone,” she murmurs by his ear. And a second later, she pushes him by his chest. “Oh my god, we’re not alone!” She looks at him, eyes wide with panic just before she turns to where she expects the rest of the team to be but sees no one.

“They left at your first moan.” Hotch smirks. “I admit, I’m a bit flattered that my sauce can make you forget where you are.”

She hums in agreement but, in true Emily Prentiss fashion, matches his wits, meets his challenge. “And now that I’ve had a taste of that, I’m looking forward to what you can do to make me forget my name. Or should I help you with your,” she pauses, glancing down to where his erection is pressed against her core. She grinds against him, eliciting a grunt from the back of his throat, then purrs, “Predicament and make you forget yours?”

“Aw, come on, Princess!” Came Morgan’s whine from the other side of the room, followed by a muttering of, “I didn’t need to hear that.”

Emily twists her torso to look behind her and sees the grimace in her partner’s face. “You should’ve stayed hidden, Derek,” she huffs in frustration but the pink tinge on her cheeks betrays her embarrassment, especially when Reid spills out the door behind Morgan to reveal three other heads peeking out to check on the ‘commotion’.

She expects Hotch to move away and is preparing herself for the disappointment but it doesn’t come because he stays locked within her legs, unmoving and seemingly unaffected by the interruption because she only sees him eyeing the others briefly before returning his attention back to her and lavishing her neck with open-mouthed kisses, alternating nips and sucks.

“Ho—Hotch?” She gasps, half in surprise and half in pleasure.

“I don’t care if they see,” he exhales against her pulse point then breathes in her scent. “I don’t care if they know,” he says, his hands travel up her sides, under her top to stroke at the smooth skin of her stomach. “In fact, I want them to,” he emphasizes with a flick of his thumb on her nipple through the lace of her bra and she gasps again, with a full-body shiver. “So they’ll know,” he pauses, biting down on her pulse point then sucking hard on her skin, making her moan loudly then sigh when he soothes the mark with his tongue. “You belong to me,” he growls now then bucks hard into her core, making her eyes roll back. “You’re mine, Emily.” He tugs the cups of her bra down and pinches her taut nipples, making her back arch in pure pleasure. “ _Mine._ ”

A strangled moan is released from the back of her throat. She’s so lost in the pleasure that she simply pushes her breasts more into his hands and grinds down harder onto his crotch. “Oh, fuck,” she growls and her own voice sounds so strange in her ears. “Yes, god—Wha—What are you doing to me? Aaron, fuck—” she mumbles almost unintelligibly.

One of Hotch’s hands releases her breast to slide around her back, grasps at her wrap-around top, looking for the knot he noticed earlier that night, and tugs, waiting for the material to loosen up then drop open to reveal her to him.

“Showing you what _you_ do to _me_.” And once the top falls open, hanging on either side of her exposed chest, he growls, “You in red.”

His harsh voice contrasts sharply with the gentle way he runs his fingertips along the red lace of the bra trapped underneath her breasts, and then above and below her left breast — scars now where he saw wounds marring her perfect skin before he had her flown out of the country for her own safety. He wastes no more time in surging forward, his hips never ceasing their movement as he takes as much of her breast as he could and sucks so hard he makes her see stars. She doesn’t even get to tamp down on the keening cry she releases as she comes with the most intense orgasm she’s ever had in her life and she hasn’t even taken her pants off.

She doesn’t have the heart to stop Aaron’s thrusting despite her sensitivity because she can only imagine how much he’s been suffering since his erection has made itself known. So she does the only thing she can think of and tugs on his belt buckle and works him until his pants drop down to his ankles, followed by his boxers, and wraps her hand around him, rubbing at the leaking tip to spread the moisture.

“Come on, Aaron,” she purrs into his ear. “You’ve been so good to me.”

He shakes his head, eyes shut tight, panting, “I wa—I want…” He trails off, turning bright red at the request he can’t seem to voice out. He hears a rustling of clothes and when he opens his eyes, he sees a blur of the others across the room right before he’s struck dumb by the sight of Emily Prentiss on her knees in front of him, smiling so affectionately up at him.

“Let go. Let me feel you. You’re mine too, Aaron. _Let them know_.”

She cups his balls, opens her mouth, takes his length nearly all the way in, moans around him, and swallows the moment the head of his cock hits the back of her throat. And just like that, he’s gone. His vision goes white and spotty. His hearing is nothing but muffled ringing, a guttural cry he can’t quite place, and the pounding of his heart. His scent is of sex and perfume and _Emily_. His taste is a mixture of sauce and sweat and _Emily_. And his touch… All he could feel is how she’s still sucking him like his release is the greatest treat she’s ever had, milking him dry, and extending his pleasure until she feels herself ready to go again. But she ignores her need. This isn’t just about her; it’s about _them._ So they can _see_ , so they can _know_.

He’s forgotten about the team who were still standing in the dining room, transfixed and shell-shocked by what they had just witnessed. And he fails to realize that the sounds he thought were so foreign came from him. When his eyes open again, it’s to the sight of Emily happily tucking his now-licked-clean cock back into his boxers, then his pants. She smiles up at him, swiping the back of her hand at the corner of her mouth to catch the last of his release, and stands, pulling at the back of his neck to kiss him senseless and give him a taste of himself.

When they part, a red-faced JJ clears her throat and asks, “So, Emily… Did you actually _learn_ a thing or two?”

“Oh, I learned _plenty_. Hotch’s _sauce_ is just a-mazing.” She closes her eyes, relishing in the groans her friends let out from her not-so-subtle double entendre. “And I suspect there will be more where that came from.” Her eyes sparkle as she fixes her red lace bra back on her breasts, smirking at a flushed Hotch, taking her sweet time tying the knot of her wrap-around, her tongue darting out to wet her lips and show him a glimpse of what’s to come.

What she doesn’t say is that she also learned a few things about herself – that she’s developed a kink, that she shared it with the straight-laced, stoic man beside her, and that she didn’t mind being _possessed_ by Aaron Hotchner if she is his as much as he is hers.

**Author's Note:**

> *digs a hole and hides* I've had a number of fic ideas for these two over the years but no time to really write them (plus I'm never confident that I can get their characters right). If anyone's interested in gushing about how this perfect shipping opportunity got squandered in the show, my tumblr (under the same name) inbox is always open.


End file.
